


A Promise

by Jubokko



Category: Naruto
Genre: (Kind of) Historical AU, Angst, Battlefield, Blood, Established Relationship, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Includes What One Might Call a Plot Twist, Injured Kakashi, M/M, Minor Character Death, Naruto AU Week 2021, Struggling to Survive on a Battlefield, Survival, Whump, gunfire, kakairu - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubokko/pseuds/Jubokko
Summary: Even when all is lost, and the glades smolder in the wake of battle, Kakashi keeps going.It doesn't matter that he's injured, exhausted, and staggering ever closer to death's door.Hehasto.Because he has a promise to keep.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42
Collections: Naruto AU Week 2021





	A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the Naruto AU week prompt: Historical Japan (which I kind of loosely followed hehe) and written to Brandon Campbell and Ramin Djawadi's [ “Surrender”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LjNEkLlHEM).  
> Also, this work was inspired by _Fires on the Plain_ by Shohei Ooka—arguably one of my favorite books, but oooh boyyy is it graphic. 
> 
> **Trigger warnings:** gun violence, descriptions of corpses, blood, gore, injury, and (minor character) death. 
> 
> I’d like to say a huge thank you to [RenGoneMad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenGoneMad/profile) for beta-reading this, and [seekingsquake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake/pseuds/seekingsquake) for helping me wrangle together a coherent summary!! Any mistakes or errors encountered in this fic are my own. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ❤️❤️

A bitter, northern wind whistled across the battlefield, rattling leaves that had long-since frozen solid—iced to the core by the frosted touch of winter. 

Under normal circumstances, such a wind carried a light sugarsnow, the fine flakes glittering as they danced through the frigid air. Today, however, it bore a dark veil of smoke and ash, drawing a blackened trail across the dull, gray canvas beyond. 

Kakashi scanned the distant charcoal paths with an eye that refused to focus, fatigue and low chakra levels desperately pulling at his remaining strength. Around him, he could feel death and decay hanging in the air—the stench of blood and rot had already suffocated his senses, rendering perception of smell and taste ineffective. 

Somewhere nearby, an explosion sounded, echoing against the distant mountains. Something—or multiple _things—_ peppered the snow shortly after, an intelligible rhythm accompanied by only the occasional whisper of nature’s breath and distant gunfire. 

Kakashi closed his eyes and pushed against the fears that whispered at the edge of his mind. 

Regret.

Failure.

Devastation. 

The war was far from over, and yet…

Yet, this battle was drawing to a close. 

The price was too high. 

Death hung low about the forest. It surrounded him—wrapping about his body, in the arm of the ANBU beneath him, and the Mist soldier who lay across his legs. 

A shape limped into view, bayonet held out with shaking arms, poking into the sea of bodies in an apathetic, desperate search for survivors. Kakashi watched the gleaming metal gain a fresh coat of scarlet as he advanced, tossing flecks of red into the air as it swung from corpse to corpse. 

The soldier’s eyes were dark pits, emotionless—the mark of someone who had seen too much; he swayed like a drunken man, stumbling and tripping with every step. 

Auburn hair shifted as the man moved, frozen masses of blood and gore scraping against cotton twill. Beneath the stains of vomit and splattered guts, a hint of tan peered through, muted and nearly unrecognizable. 

Kakashi heard the soldier curse loudly and watched as a hand flew to his right armpit. Seconds later, the man sank his bayonet into the ground in order to support himself, panting heavily. 

Scarlet trickled down splotched, frostbitten fingers, staining three gold pips and a dark-brown badge. 

_Sand_.

Kakashi’s hand crept across the ground and found the service revolver pinned beneath the remnants of the Mist soldier’s outstretched hand. 

Throat tight, heart pounding in his chest, he cocked the type-26 as quietly as he could, hands smearing blood across the mechanism. He fumbled with the trigger, praying that there were enough rounds left.

Gritting his teeth, Kakashi leveled the weapon and opened his Sharingan eye, blinking as the power of the Uchiha kekkei genkai tore through his body and blood like a wildfire. 

The Sand soldier turned, eyes wild and filled with fear, chest rising and falling—panic written across his features. He was afraid to die, left terrified of the living. 

But this was war. Death was inevitable. 

How many of this man’s comrades had fallen by Kakashi’s hand? 

Kakashi couldn’t say. 

He had lost count in this battle alone, numbers having been rendered irrelevant in the desperate race for survival.

It had no meaning, not anymore. 

So what was one more? 

The sound of the revolver tore through the air, and Kakashi felt his lip curl as he watched a mixture of surprise and pain overtake the soldier’s expression. A red stain began to blossom across the once-tan uniform. 

The man's rifle fell to the trampled snow as he dropped to his knees, brown eyes wide and glittering, roving through the heaps of decay for his killer. 

Their gaze met, and, for a moment, neither of them moved. 

Exhaling slightly, Kakashi allowed the revolver to tumble from his grasp. The soldier soon followed, a now-lifeless shell to join the others. 

A distant commotion reached Kakashi’s ears, a series of gunshots to his left. Shouts accompanied the harsh staccato, undercutting its piercing echoes with touches of savage humanity. 

Across the glade, shadowed outlines melted into view, weapons glinting—the only discernible part of their forms as of yet. 

He breathed a long sigh.

It was the end of the line. He was pinned and freezing, bitter cold and pain having already petrified his muscles; the pant legs of his uniform were practically welded to the forest floor where blood and the Mist soldier’s guts had congealed with rough fabric.

Kakashi balled up his hand into a fist, seeking the smooth comfort of the golden band about his finger. The wave of despair and grief nearly collapsed his breathing.

No—this couldn’t be the end. 

He’d made a vow, a promise.

Grunting with the effort it took to move, Kakashi pulled himself onto one side, breath coming in harsh gasps as shattered ribs lit up his insides in a fiery inferno of agony—the sensation of a thousand, white-hot needles sinking through muscle, skin, and bone. The world spun and a wavering blackness danced about the edges of his vision, all sense of direction yanked from beneath his shaking fingertips. 

Kakashi heaved, struggling to free himself, teeth digging into an ice-encrusted lip to prevent his groan from turning to a scream. The steel-toed boot shifted, crackling against the ground, and pulled free of the concave, now-scattered remains of the Mist soldier’s skull. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at what had attached itself to his pant leg and boot. His eyes fixed skyward even as his hand groped for the revolver, feeling frozen slickness against his fingers. 

  
  


The shouts were growing closer. Swaying, unsteady on his shaking legs, Kakashi stumbled forward. His eyes found the nearby treeline and scraped over the row of pines, taking in boughs weighed down with snow. 

It was the only cover, the only place that could give him a chance at making it out… if that was even an option now. 

With every step, he prayed that his boot would land on solid ground, that it would not be a comrade or enemy that he would tread upon. 

And every time, his foot made contact with that which he could no longer bear to see. 

_They_ were everywhere. 

Everywhere… and _gone_.   
  


There was no cold wind beneath the tangle of brush and trees; Kakashi allowed the treeline to swallow him whole. He fell against a nearby tree trunk, reaching out to tug his legs closer to his body—his muscles no longer responding to his will. 

And so his watch began, unfocused eyes peering through a gap between the branches. 

The approaching soldiers—he could hear their voices, a buzz of speech under the whistle of the wind. 

Kakashi’s grip on the revolver tightened. 

Ordinarily, he’d have checked how many rounds he had left, but it wouldn’t make a difference now. If he had to use the weapon again, it would be over no matter what. 

He was too weak. 

Another gunshot rang out through the clearing, close and deafening in his ears. Kakashi gasped out loud, only for the sound to quickly turn to a groan as he crumpled forward. His vision wavered, carried by a renewed wave of dizziness.

Hesitation, flinching, fear—they were even greater enemies than the soldiers out there waiting to pull the trigger. Natural threats, they were, but often just as deadly. 

Something warm dribbled down his chin, and Kakashi dimly registered the trail of blood spilling down onto his uniform front. The red stains seemed to dance in and out of focus—small, scarlet tributes to his carelessness. 

There could be no sudden moves, no room for error—and yet he’d let his concentration slip nonetheless. 

He cursed his stupid, rookie mistake. 

The type-26 slipped from his fingers and made a soft _thump_ as it hit the packed snow beside him. He wanted to cough and heave, to clear his airway and cry for help—but there was no telling whether the figures in the glade were friend or foe. 

Whoever was out there had probably heard his little mistake already.

There was nothing he could do. 

  
  


A shadow fell over him, and Kakashi didn’t even bother to look up. Instead, he let out a slow breath, bracing himself as he dragged his left hand into his lap with the last of his strength.

The golden wedding band glimmered in the light cast between the thick branches. There were a few bloodstains tarnishing its surface, as well as a subtle notch where Kakashi had once accidentally hit it against machinery. It was funny how such a small thing could mean so much, even in moments such as these. 

He let his eyes fall closed. 

_“Hea—in—ternal bleeding.”_

Kakashi let his eyes flutter open as he heard someone drop beside him. Hands hurriedly cast aside thickly insulated gloves and took his own, already humming with green medical chakra. 

A large tear rolled down from the Sharingan as Kakashi ran his fingers over a matching gold ring—the same ring that he’d hidden in a jacket pocket all those years ago, waiting for the perfect moment to present it to the man who’d stolen his heart. 

_“Kakashi?”_

The tear hissed softly as it dissipated against the pulsing, green jutsu. 

What a traitor it was, that gifted, Uchiha eye. 

Heedless of the searing halo that embraced his midsection, Kakashi leaned into the other man’s touch and weakly pulled him closer. 

For a moment, Iruka hesitated, then returned the embrace. The medical chakra hummed, despite their close contact, steadfast in its wielder's intent. 

Kakashi buried his face in Iruka’s shoulder. A dream, that was what this had to be, a figment of his imagination…

And yet the pain in his chest was very real—as was the slow and steady thrum of medical jutsu through his body. Two parts of the same anchor that bound him to the present.

_“Hey—stay with me, Kakashi, c’mon.”_

Kakashi fumbled for Iruka’s hand, found it, and squeezed. 

“I made—a promise,” he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> This fic was inspired by conversations/artwork in the [Tenzō's Cabin](https://tenzoscabin.tumblr.com/post/633593713011146752/join-the-tenz%C5%8Ds-cabin-discord-server) Discord Server.  
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://akumu-jubokko.tumblr.com/) | ✨[[socials]](https://jubokko.carrd.co/)✨
> 
> All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! ❤️


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